Bill Kaulitz

The dull click of heels echoed in the night silence of the rainy city. Her jacket was soaked through that her fragile shoulders trembled from the cold and quiet sobs. Black mascara ran down her face, smearing her light makeup. Thoughts swirled in her head, reflecting on this evening, which remained vividly etched in her memory.

That evening, Bill mocked your feelings when he found out who you were in love with and to whom you wrote love poems. This topic was unpleasant for you, personal, something you only wanted to keep silent about and hide like the most precious treasure. And suddenly it all came out. Bill, as you expected, began mockingly rereading your love letters at the top of his voice. His friends, supporting him, laughed and poked each other in the ribs, pointing to his hunched face, in whose eyes tears glistened.

Those memories covered you like a blanket. You wanted to hide from everyone, to forget this day like a bad dream. A sharp horn tore you from your thoughts, headlights illuminating the path. Startled, you turned around, seeing a car slowly approaching the curb along which you had been walking modestly home.

The car was moving more slowly, and the window opened with a quiet sound, from which Billaa's head appeared with a guilty face.

“You...get in, I’ll give you a ride,” the guy said hesitantly, looking into his tear-stained face.